


Double Occupancy

by annundriel



Series: In a Twist [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel discover Victoria's Secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Occupancy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://annundriel.livejournal.com/626437.html) March 27, 2011.

“Sir, can I help you?”

Dean looks up at the saleswoman and blinks. “Uh.”

“Are you looking for something in particular?” she asks, hands folded patiently in front of her. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, petite and perky. Her eyes are brown, wide and dark, and she smiles at Dean with lips tinted pink. “Something for your wife, maybe?” She glances down at his hands—one’s still pressed against the soft purple lace on the edge of a pair of panties and Dean snatches it back—then back up. “Or a girlfriend?”

“Uh, no,” he says. “No, I’m—” _Shopping for myself_. Except he can’t say that. He can’t tell her that his angel—fuck, _his_ angel—bought him a pair of panties, that Castiel looked at him and _knew_ and provided. That Castiel looked at him the week before, satin stretched over his cock, and tilted his head, and asked Dean if he’d like to try something different.

He definitely can’t tell her how his heart had jumped at that. Or how his pulse races as he stands there, surrounded by silk and satin and lace, colors that shimmer and shine and would cling so nicely to his own cock. Or Castiel’s.

The woman shifts in front of him, angling into his line of sight. There’s a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Another lady, then?” she asks, eyelashes dipping as her mouth curves. “Something a little more casual?”

“We’re looking for something for my girlfriend.”

It takes a moment for that to register, for Dean to realize, yes, that _is_ Castiel’s voice coming from behind him, Castiel’s heat at his shoulder. The woman’s eyes flicker past Dean, a frown appearing between her eyebrows.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, voice steady and serious. “Tonight is…a special occasion.”

Dean’s grateful that he can’t see Castiel; he’s afraid that he’d gape, give something away.

The woman looks between the two of them, expression caught somewhere between confusion and relief. Dean offers her a small smile and shrugs one of his shoulders. “He doesn’t drive,” he says, nodding backwards at Castiel. “Told him I’d give him a lift.”

Her face smoothes out and she smiles. “Of course.” She steps past Dean with a glance, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder. “Let me show you—”

Closing his eyes, Dean takes a moment to breathe through his nose, lets the breath out through his mouth. His heart races in his chest and his palms feel damp, so he wipes them on his thighs, then turns and follows them.

They haven’t gone far. He finds them in a corner, the woman smiling up at Castiel, her fingers moving over the display of panties in more hues than Dean really knows what to do with. Hanging back, Dean watches them, the way she angles herself toward Castiel. The way Castiel all but ignores her. His eyes are on the array of colors and fabrics before him. He reaches out at one point, fingers grazing hers over some dark blue lace that reminds Dean of Castiel’s tie and she turns, blinks up at him, mouth open.

Something hot and sharp slices through Dean. Castiel said he had a _girlfriend_ , damn it; he’s _taken_.

Dean clears his throat and she jumps, licking her lips as she turns toward him. She looks a little dazed.

“Thanks,” Dean says. “I think we can take it from here.”

“Uh.” A hand comes up to play with the ends of her hair. “Yeah, of course. If you need anything, I’ll—”

“Thank you for your help,” Castiel says as she takes a step back, then another. She smiles at him, then at Dean, and turns, cheeks flushed.

Dean watches her go, waits until she’s on the other side of the store before stepping closer to Castiel, crowding him. In Castiel’s hands are a pair of green panties, the color rich, reminding Dean of summer.

“What do you think?” Castiel asks, lifting them with one hand for Dean to see.

“Girlfriend, Cas? Really? Your _girlfriend_?”

Castiel sighs, his shoulders slumping, and reaches for Dean, two fingers pressed against Dean’s forehead. There’s a familiar hook in Dean’s gut and between one breath and the next, the scene has changed. Instead of the arranged rows of candy-colored lingerie, they’re surrounded by the secluded pastels of a dressing room. Dean takes it in, finds the door at his back and a mirror to his left, a bench to his right. Castiel in front of him, the panties still in his hand.

“Cas, what are we doing here?”

“Would you have preferred that we were looking for your girlfriend?”

Yeah, Dean thinks, he would have. Castiel isn’t—Castiel is _his_ , not anyone else’s. No matter how real or imagined they are.

“I could have been.”

Dean swallows. “What?”

“Your girlfriend.” The way he says it is so matter of fact that Dean wants to laugh. “Angels have no gender, Dean, no sex—”

“No fun.”

Castiel frowns at him, and Dean can’t help but grin. He reaches out, fingers twisting in Castiel’s coat, and tugs him closer, pulling until Castiel is nudged between his legs, until Dean’s caught between the wall at the back of the dressing room and Castiel’s solid weight. He kisses Castiel quickly, a chaste peck, before diving in deeper, tongue sliding past Castiel’s lips. Castiel moans, a vibration more than a sound, and it moves over Dean’s skin, through his chest, down his limbs, reverberating. After a moment, Castiel slips away, forehead pressed to Dean’s, nose tucked against his own.

“I could have come to you in a female vessel,” Castiel says, fingers flexing on Dean’s hips. They’re so close, Dean can feel Castiel’s lips move, the stubble on his skin catching against Dean’s in direct contrast to what could have been.

It’s not something Dean’s considered before, and the thought strikes him hard. It would be so different from what he has now, so similar to what came before, except—No, it wouldn’t be. No one’s ever been like Castiel, not Rhonda, not Cassie, not Lisa. Not any of the women—or men—Dean has ever touched has made Dean’s heart hammer like Cas does, no one has ever made his breath catch and his body ache, has understood him as fundamentally as Cas does.

A different vessel wouldn’t change that. It would still be Castiel that Dean touches, Castiel that Dean kisses. Castiel whose look turns Dean inside out. Castiel as a woman, though; Dean can’t say it’s not appealing, the idea of sliding into Castiel’s tight, wet heat, her eyes looking up at him big and blue and—

Only they wouldn’t be. They’d be different—different eyes and a different face, different hips and hands and chest. Different voice racing along Dean’s skin, rubbing his nerves raw. He’d look into eyes that were brown or gray or green, blue maybe, but a different shade, and it would still be Castiel. It would always be Castiel at the back of them, bright and bold and bursting to get out.

“I could,” Castiel begins, pulling away. “Would you—”

Dean stops Castiel’s words with his mouth, their teeth shuddering against one another. “No, Cas,” he says, pulling away. “No, I like—I want—”

He would miss the breadth of Castiel’s shoulders and the sharpness of his hips, the feel of his stubble and width of his palms. The jut of his Adam’s apple and the sound he makes—a rumbling groan like thunder on the horizon—when Dean presses his mouth there, just a hint of teeth.

Shifting, he feels Castiel’s cock pressing against his, both of them hard, both of them on edge since they stepped through the doors. Hell, since Castiel suggested they come here. He’d miss Castiel’s cock, miss the length of it, the way it feels in his hand, his mouth, his ass. Miss Castiel’s arms around him when he fucks him, cock buried inside Dean.

“Don’t ever change, Cas,” Dean says, letting go of Castiel’s coat with one hand to slide it around the back of Castiel’s neck. His hair tickles Dean’s fingers, and his skin is warm, smooth. Squeezing gently, Dean doesn’t let him move away. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

Castiel’s breath hitches against Dean’s mouth, and Dean pulls away with a shake of his head. Pushes Castiel until his back is against the wall.

“Don’t ever change,” he repeats, kissing Castiel quiet, and then he drops to his knees, hands pushing Castiel’s coat and jacket out of the way. Beyond the flimsy walls of the dressing room, he can hear the muffled sounds of the store. It makes his hands shake and he fumbles with the buckle on Castiel’s belt, pausing to breathe deep and lean in, tuck his face against Castiel’s cock through the fabric of his pants until there’s nothing but the dark and Castiel and the sound of Dean’s heart humming in his ears.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, voice gone hoarse and molten. “What are you doing?”

Dean grins against Castiel, reining it in before he pulls away. “We’ve done this often enough,” he says. “You mean you can’t tell?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and reaches for Dean, fingers brushing over Dean’s lips. He clenches his jaw when Dean nips at them. “Are we doing this here?”

Dean nuzzles at his palm. “Isn’t that what you brought me in here for?”

“No,” Castiel says, “I—”

Dean works the belt buckle open, pops the button on Castiel’s fly. “Mmhmm,” he hums, dragging the zipper down slowly, relishing the sound of each tooth releasing, Castiel’s breath coming slightly faster. “Your motives were entirely innocent. Sure, Cas, I believe you.”

“I only wanted to talk, Dean.” Castiel’s fingers slide across his cheek, into his hair. There’s something soft playing at the corners of his mouth, something wicked. Something Dean’s come to crave. “But I will take this, too.”

Dean smirks up at him. “I bet you will,” he says, fingers slipping inside Castiel’s pants, past his shirttails to tease Castiel’s cock through the cotton of his underwear. Castiel’s hand flexes against Dean’s scalp, and Dean smiles, the pads of his fingers finding skin, hot and hard and silky smooth. He pulls Castiel out through the opening in his underwear and above him Castiel gasps, a shock of sound that races down Dean’s spine to his own cock.

Licking his lips, Dean leans in, swipes a thumb over the head of Castiel’s cock before brushing his mouth against it. Castiel’s fingers tighten in his hair, and Dean glances up at him through his eyelashes, catches Castiel watching him, lips parted, eyes large and dark. Not looking away, Dean flicks his tongue out over the head and Castiel’s eyelids flutter, never quite closing. He adjusts his grip, fingers shifting, and licks at it, lapping at the bead of precome that appears before closing his lips around the head.

Castiel swallows; Dean can hear his throat click from his place on the floor. Slowly, Dean moves down the shaft, tongue flat on the underside. He takes more of Castiel until his lips are pressed against the ring of his fingers, throat working around the head.

Castiel’s other hand, panties still twisted in his fingers, comes up to Dean’s jaw, his cheek, skin and satin catching on Dean’s stubble. The panties are warm from the heat of Castiel’s palm, soft against Dean’s face, and Dean leans into it, tilts his head into Castiel’s touch. Wants more.

Pulling off, Dean turns into Castiel’s hand, nuzzles the folds of fabric there, breathes in and smells the store outside, Castiel underneath. Later Castiel will wear these panties and when Dean presses his face against them—Castiel’s hard cock pushing them out of shape—he’ll only smell Castiel, heady and familiar. They’ll smell like Castiel and they’ll smell like him and these will be theirs, _this_ will be theirs.

“Dean,” Castiel says, fingers gentle against Dean’s cheek. His trench coat falls around them, blocking the world outside of the cubicle even more, like blinders. All that’s left is those panties against Dean’s face, Castiel’s voice and Castiel’s hands, Castiel’s cock.

With one last breath, Dean pulls away. He looks up at Castiel, feels flushed and alive, his nerves zinging. “Cas,” he says in response, and that’s it, that’s all he needs to say. What else is there?

Dean leans back in and mouths at Castiel’s shaft. Imagines doing this later, the panties stretched tight between them, the color darkening into a deeper green as he licks and nips and sucks. Castiel will do the same, will probably do it first. He’ll take Dean back to their room, to someplace private, make him change. _Help_ him change.

Dean presses the heel of his free hand against his cock, groaning at the thought.

Fingernails scrape against Dean’s scalp, through his hair, an answering groan rumbling up from Castiel’s chest, falling from between his parted lips.

Closing his eyes, Dean savors that sound for a moment, savors it like he does the taste of Castiel on his tongue, then slips away far enough to say, “Shh.” His breath ghosts across Castiel’s damp skin and Castiel shivers, shudders. Swallows and nods and says, voice breaking, “Yes, Dean, of course.”

Castiel’s lips press together in a tight line and it hits Dean somewhere low in his gut to know he has this power, that as well as Castiel knows him, as easily as Castiel can take him apart, Dean still holds some of the cards. There’s a give and a take and neither of them are unaffected.

After, Dean will kiss Castiel, soothe and erase the indentations left by his teeth on his bottom lip when Castiel tried to quiet himself. After, he’ll kiss Cas, let him taste himself caught in Dean’s mouth, lingering between his tongue and soft palate, and Castiel will hold onto him by his hips, mark Dean with finger-shaped bruises that he’ll eventually map with his tongue like constellations, skirting the edge of Dean’s new panties, tracing the line where fabric meets skin.

For now, there’s something more immediate to take care of.

Ducking his head, Dean tucks his face against Castiel, noses at his balls through the layers of clothing between them. Moves his hand so he can mouth at the base of his cock, tongue fluttering over hot skin. Castiel’s hands tug at him, satin sliding over Dean’s skin, and Dean kneels back, winking up at Castiel, knowing what he wants, what _they_ ultimately want.

Wrapping his lips tight around Castiel’s cock, Dean moves his tongue against the head, rolls and cradles. He sucks Castiel down, follows the path of his fingers, finds the beginning of a rhythm he can feel at the very center of him, deep in his bones.

It starts slow, a tease that’s less a tease and more a prolonging, a drawing out. He wants Castiel to come, wants to feel him and taste him. He’d like to hear him, but that can’t happen here, now. Dean already knows what Castiel sounds like, knows it intimately; he doesn’t want to share it. Doesn’t want to get caught and—

 _Fuck_ , they could get caught. They’re in a dressing room in Victoria’s fucking Secret and Dean’s on his knees with Cas’ cock in his mouth, the panties they’ll both end up wearing caught between Castiel’s palm and Dean’s cheek. It’s a compromising position and Dean should be worried, he should be fucking _terrified_ , but all of that’s erased. None of it matters because there’s Cas and there’s him and there’s this.

Dean picks up the pace, hand working more quickly on Castiel’s shaft, his mouth greedy. This, _this_ is what he wants, what he needs. There were things Dean didn’t know before Castiel, but he’s learning.

Lips stretched, tongue occupied, Dean sucks at Castiel. He strokes and sucks, looks up at Castiel from his place on his knees, takes in the rumpled white of his shirt and the twisted blue of his tie. The red of his bitten lips and pink of his flush, the shadow of his stubble. These things Dean wouldn’t change. His eyes are dark and bottomless and full of so many things that Dean’s only beginning to recognize, to name. He could get lost there, let Cas worry about finding him.

He saved him once, he can save him again.

Castiel’s tongue sneaks out between his lips for a second before disappearing again, mouth a straight line as he swallows. When they fall open, it’s like he’s stopped breathing, like he’s forgotten how or that he needs to—maybe he doesn’t; Dean’s had Castiel’s mouth on him, it’s possible—and then—

“Fuck,” Castiel says, the word striking at Dean like lightning, bright and blinding, electrifying. Hands tightening on Dean, Castiel’s hips jerk, and Dean does his best to follow the movement, to swallow around Castiel as he comes.

Dean works him through it, fingers firm, mouth open. His jaw is tired, and his knees are killing him, but he’s happy where he is.

Pulling back as Castiel begins to soften, Dean smiles up at him. “Couldn’t do that if you were my girlfriend.”

Castiel leans until his head is against the wall, Adam’s apple bobbing when he speaks. Dean wants to put his mouth on it, feel each of Castiel’s words. “No,” he says, tilting his head so he can blink down at Dean, “but I believe there are other things—comparable things—you could do.”

He’s not wrong. There are things about today that would have been the same—waking up to Castiel at the side of the bed, breakfast with Sam, teasing Cas into eating _something_ —but the rest would have been different. Not better, not worse, just different. He would have told the saleswoman he was shopping for his girlfriend. Would they have held hands? Dean isn’t sure; Castiel doesn’t seem like the type. He would have followed Castiel into a dressing room when they’re buying _her_ panties, crowded her against the wall. Kneeling in front of her, he’d push her skirt up her thighs, spread her open and lick her. Fuck her with his tongue and fingers until her thighs shake and she’s clenching around him, calling his name as she comes.

Dean swallows hard and grinds the heel of his hand against his cock. “It’s, uh—” He swallows again. “Yeah, there are. Doesn’t mean I don’t want this more.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes. He reaches for Dean, panties still twisted in his fingers, and rubs a thumb over Dean’s lips. He pauses at the corner of Dean’s mouth, brushing the pad against Dean’s skin, and when he rubs it back, Dean flicks his tongue against it, tastes come that he missed. Closing his lips around Castiel’s thumb, Dean sucks it clean.

Castiel moans, more breath and air than sound. “Dean,” he repeats. “I—”

“Um, excuse me?” a woman’s voice calls from the other side of the dressing room door. It’s followed by a knock. “Excuse me? I don’t think—”

Dean’s heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline shooting through his system. This is it, they’ve been caught, they’ve—

It’s silent for a moment and Dean blinks, takes in his surroundings. He’s on his knees still, but instead of the pastels, the gilt, they’re surrounded by dark wood, dark carpeting, the bed he left half-way made this morning.

He looks back up at Castiel and squints. “Did you just mojo us out of there?”

“I thought it was for the best,” Castiel says. “Less…mess.”

His cheeks are flushed and his cock is still out and in his hand are the goddamn panties.

Dean nods at them. “You just shoplifted those. Pretty sure that’s a misdemeanor here.”

Castiel holds them up, examines them in the light falling through the partially opened curtains. “They bring out your eyes.” He looks back at Dean slyly.

Something in Dean’s chest hitches, and he laughs, the sound bubbling up and out of him. “You son of a bitch.” He reaches for Castiel, uses Castiel’s hips to pull himself up until they’re face to face again. Castiel’s eyes spark and his mouth twitches and, _fuck_ , Dean loves him. It’s not a revelation, not really. Not when Dean’s felt this way for so long, felt so comfortable and happy. Felt like he belongs. It simply, inevitably is. “You’re something else,” he says, feeling grateful and ecstatic and…too fucking full of _feeling_ for words. “You’re just—”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to finish that, so he doesn’t. He closes the distance between them instead, kisses Castiel for all he’s worth. Shows him what he wants and how he feels and doesn’t stop until Castiel nudges him back, guiding him toward the bed.

Even then, Dean keeps going.


End file.
